


A Rainbow of Colors

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, House of Fingolfin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were everywhere, her prefect, vibrant family. And she was nothing next to them, even though she was the only one left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rainbow of Colors

They were looking at her again. She supposed she did look like she didn’t belong, everyone else was out there dancing, in bright colors, without care. And then there was her. Standing (or hiding, no matter how much she would deny it if somebody asked) in the shadows, still dressed in blacks and greys. 

But she just couldn’t understand how they could wear them without feeling sick – every time she tried to wear something that was brighter, she remembered them. Not that she ever forgot them, but a flash of bright blue brought to her mind the clothes he had been wearing that first day that she had met him, looking more handsome than any other elf she had ever seen, half turned on his horse to shout back at his brother, when he had spotted her. And it had been love at first sight, and now she had nothing.

And red brought to mind her oldest, racing back into the house, unwashed and muddy, having borrowed a tunic from one of his cousins again. He had always loved them, and while Nolo had tried to get him to wear blues, she had just laughed it off. She supposed it might be for the best, after all in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t it better to remember red as the color of her son’s clothes, rather than the blood that haunted her dreams these days? It was a cold comfort. 

Her eyes were drawn to Arafinwe when he burst out laughing. He was wearing purple today, and she couldn’t stop staring. He looked nothing like her son, and yet, and yet, there was a brief moment when he turned away, and for a second the blond hair melted away and became black, and the features changed, and there he was. And next to him was his sister, clad as always in white. For a second, she pictured them as she hoped they had been in some moment in his city, and she could see it, and then it faded from view, and all she could see once more was Ara, and there was Earwen next to him, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming that white was Aredhel’s color, and wasn’t it enough that Earwen had her oldest back, and that her daughter was still alive, and the Valar had said that the rest of their children would be released soon, and all she had was a cold bed, and a granddaughter that had no need for her, and a wish that these colors would stop haunting her. And for a second, her mouth opened, and then she gathered her skirt around her, and rushed away, hoping that she could just fade into the darkness. 

As she left, she remembered Argon, and frantically she searched for something that remind her of him, but she couldn’t think of a color, because he was always switching the color of what he wore, and he was everywhere and nowhere. She couldn’t remember him as clearly as the others, and as she realized this she moaned. How could a mother ever forget exactly how one of her children was? As guilt set in, she stumbled up the steps of their house, barely able to keep moving. The house was always theirs, she couldn’t bear to think of it as hers, other than as her living tomb, because as long as it was theirs she could trick herself into thinking that there was a chance that one day they would all be back, no matter how unlikely she logically knew that was. Aredhel and Fingon would never leave their cousins, and as much as she wanted to delude herself into thinking Nolo would come back to her, if he had to chose between staying with his father and two of his children, or leaving to go to his wife and his two other children, she couldn’t know what his choice would be and even if she got the others back, how happy could she be picturing the rest of her family in there. Looking in the mirror, all she could see staring back at her was black. Black hair, black dress, the only thing not black was her skin, and that was good, because black was not a color she associated with her family. They had all been too passionate, too happy, too perfect to wear black. And maybe that was why she was here, without them, because she was none of those, and black suited her perfectly.


End file.
